


Of Finwé and Helcarinë

by XirinOfArvada



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Finwe - Freeform, Gen, The Two Trees of Valinor, elves who miss Cuivienen, fancy descriptions of snow, mentions of Orome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XirinOfArvada/pseuds/XirinOfArvada
Summary: “Perhaps we are not the fairest, simply the first. The eldest is not always the wisest, nor is the youngest always the most idle. The eldest could be foolish, yet the youngest could be the healing balm to many wounds.”Finwé goes on a walk with his younger sister and discuss many things.
Relationships: Finwe and Helcarinë
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Of Finwé and Helcarinë

**Author's Note:**

> So, in my headcanon, Finwé and his sister have parents who chose to remain in Middle-Earth. They also have grandparents and these grandparents of theirs were one of the first elves to awaken.  
> Canonically, there is a three hundred year period between the awakening to the journey to Aman, so it's possible that three generations of elves could have lived in Middle-Earth.

Golden flecks drenched the freshly fallen snow. The day was coming to a close and Finwé, King of the Noldor, walked side by side with his pregnant, younger sister — their hands entwined and their voices one. Her white hair was fairer than light and paler than fresh snow. No one loved her more than Finwé himself.

Walking down the snowy path, he held her hand, guiding her through one last walk before dusk. His ebony hair and fur coat was powdered with snow. Finwé ought to dust them away, his eyes narrowing. Helcarinë found this amusing, and she sprinkled more snow on his hair by touching the branch of a pine tree. Snow cascaded down on the king's head, accompanied by the melodic laughter of his younger sister. King Finwé frowned, his hair and clothes covered with snow.

“You look like a snow-elf!” She laughed, holding her stomach. She leaned her back against the tree for support as she cackled, her belly swollen with a child.

Finwé shook his head, and he ruffled his hair to remove the snow. He glanced at his younger sister, his face contorting into a smirk. 

“You evil witch.” He swooped her up and held her bridal-style. “How dare you drop snow on the king's head? You should be executed for such errant and disrespectful behaviour.”

“You are as frightening as a baby chicken,” she replied. “I fear greatly for my life!”

Finwé rolled his eyes and planted a kiss on her forehead. They shared the same bright eyes and both of their faces were similar. Her laughter was infectious and Finwé eventually laughed alongside her. She reached out, and she felt the strands of his hair under her hand. She brushed away the snow from his hair and his coat.

“You do not frighten me at all, brother. I often wonder why you try your hardest to scare me, knowing well that your attempts will lead to failure.”

“I do not give up,” Finwé answered with a smile to accompany his words. He continued to walk down the path, carrying his sister in his arms as he went. She pressed her face to his chest, smiling at the warmth of his heart.

“Empty words, my brother.” She replied, playing with a loose strand of Finwé's hair that had fallen close to her grasp. She twirled the strand between her fingers — her interest and attention locked.

Her mind had wandered off to different things. Yet, Finwé continued to speak. Her ears listened, yet her mind did not comprehend.

“Watch your tongue, sister. You are too blunt.” Finwé warned her. His eyes wandered over to the flowers that grew and persisted despite the cold of the northern winter. Their blooms were bent and white, like the tears of a mother who had lost her child to a jackal's cry.

“It is a gift from Eru.” She took the strand into her hands and her fingers wove the pattern of three tresses.

“A gift that will land you in the tower once again. I don't want you to return there.” A memory consisting of dark rocks, high walls, fluttering flags and unkempt gardens entered his mind. His body shook and a shudder ran through his spine. Erémindorya might have been a lofty palace that boasted seven towers and numerous halls, along with gardens and fountains. However, to Finwé, the palace was nothing more than a lonely prison, hidden away in the mountains and unknown to all but to those who find their unfortunate home within.

“Then, perhaps you should be warier of the Valar. They were the ones who placed me there for uncommitted crimes.” She let go of the half-braided strand. Helcarinë peered into her brother's greyish-blue eyes, her vision filled with a shadow that Finwé often saw. It was the shadow of Cuivienen and the darkness that encircled the first home. Strange the stars of Cuivienen were, yet the shadow of the lake never left their eyes nor did the desire to bathe in those waters fade from their hearts.

He met her gaze with great sadness and the smile that he offered to her was an unuseful mask to hide the pain in both their hearts. To Cuivienen, there is no returning. The paths had changed. To Erémindorya, there must be no return. Nay, let there be no one to dwell in those empty halls again and be tormented by the cruelty of loneliness and sorrow.

Finwé held his sister closer to her and he sought for memories in her eyes. To his delight, he found few memories concerning Erémindorya. She was beginning to forget, which was great! The less she remembers, the gayer her life shall be.

The siblings lingered in the snow for many hours. The dusk had passed, yet, they did not care for the nonexistent darkness. There was no night in the land of Aman, there was no shadow and there was no darkness. There was only light, bright, unobscured light. For a time, Finwé loved the light, yet now, he only dreamed of dark night skies and twinkling stars.

They walked in silence, their gait untraceable, and their voices unheard by their breaths. Simple glances were enough. Fog began to settle in, covering the ground in a mist of grey, leaving dewdrops in his hidden boots.

“Should I carry you? I am afraid that you will be concealed by the thick fog.” Finwé offered and the next moment, he was lying face flat on the snow. He spat out snow to the sound of his sister's giggles. Insufferable woman.

Formenos was sat on a lofty mountain. From where they stood, Finwé and Helcarinë could see endless tracks of golden snow, down the mountain and all throughout the valley. Amber lights and bonfires crisscrossed the valley. They cast their shadows and their lights, filling the white and golden landscape with many colours and shades. Here was a land where the light of the trees did not intrude.

Helcarinë's vision was as vivid as the eyes of the eagles of Manwé and Finwé kept his silence when her gaze grew distant and mournful. Taking in the breathtaking landscape, her heart leapt towards the edges of the cliff and dared to jump and cascade into the cold waters of her ancient home. She uttered no sound, no sigh, and no song.

But a soundless hymn was sung through her silence, a soundless hymn that echoed all throughout the land of Aman. It echoed and it was strengthened by her brother's voice. The silence and the sound of water and oak melded together into a harmony of amber and golden-snow. A symphony of longing for their ancient life, a ballad for the fallen and for the lost. For the dead who walk in Aman, for the elves who yet dwell in Middle-Earth.

As their hymn concluded, so did their love for Aman. Finwé's spirit grew cold and a harsh breeze blew – carrying with it the stench of decay and frost. Finwé stretched out his left hand and he captured the wind in his hand, casting it aside to favour the breeze of the sea that brought with it the tidings of Middle-Earth.

Middle-Earth still lay in starlight and neither of them longed for anything more than the to which their fathers awoke.

“Do you think father is still alive?” Helcarinë was the first to break the silence. She sat down on the stone, overlooking the fields of snow and amber lights. 

“I hope he is.” Finwé replied and he sat down beside her. “I miss them. Father, mothers, haru, and haruni.”

“They must miss us more. Imagine how much anger they must have in their hearts towards the hunter,” she said. “Was it not Oromë who killed the elves towards the land of light? Was it not the hunter who came with a horn and a horse who chose three elves from amongst us to come as representatives?”

“Aye, it was him. Elves worship him, and elves detest them. Such a divided people we are, so right yet so wrong. How come we are the fairest of Illuvatar's children?” He held a fistful of snow and he grimaced.

“Perhaps we are not the fairest, simply the first. The eldest is not always the wisest, nor is the youngest always the most idle. The eldest could be foolish, yet the youngest could be the healing balm to many wounds.”

Finwé thought and his sister was correct. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded his head. “You speak of current time, sister. You are wise, and here I am, foolish and youthful.”

“Neither of us is wise or foolish.” She shifted and placed her head on his lap, her eyes staring up at him. “We are both right and wrong, we are both imperfect and perfect. Brother, beloved of mine, your fondness for philosophy is beginning to tire me.”

“Then shall we speak of gems and diamonds instead?” He offered, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No, let us speak of Feänaro and the crow of Mandos who dwells amongst us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
